


whisper whiskey on my tongue

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Attracted to scents, Confessions, Grandfather/Grandson Incest, Incest, M/M, Needy Rick, POV Second Person, Possessive Morty, Rick is sad, makeout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: short but sweetmorty just can't resist it.but he's terrified.





	whisper whiskey on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> hey i've recently got into rick and morty lately  
> ratings may change because i'm planning to write a NSFW second and/or third chapter but i'm unsure if that will happen  
> comments are appreciated. sorry it's short, i just really love these two

When you confess to Rick,  it’s not what you thought it would be.

It’s not sweet, or overdramatic, or anything like that. It’s not in a life or death situation, and it’s not in a sexual one either.

You confess to him after a day of school, after you stumble into the garage much more tired than you should be because you had been stuck thinking about your goddamned grandfather and his crazy, off-putting, charming but wild personality, and you just sag.

You push yourself up onto his workbench, and he barely even notices you, lost in his own world, fiddling with an alien-looking  _ thing _ and you say, “I think about you too much.”

You’ve lost your stammer, the worlds are clear as day, and Rick just sort of glances at him eyebrow tilted up in an inquisitive look.

You pause for a minute, then you speak again, less confidently. “It’s kind of hard to not love you, Rick. You make it really fucking hard.”   
And you don’t look at him now, because you’re an idiot. You’re a goddamn idiot.  _ Not cool, Morty. _

You hear Rick snort, and you’re terrified. You asked for this. And he’s going to tell you what a hell of a retard you are, because why even say something like that?

But then he says, “I’m glad I’m just as frustrating,” and it’s offhand and you don’t get it at first, but then you stare at him.

Entirely not focused on you.

But the tip of his nose is an orangish-pink, an odd color, but definitely Rick and definitely flushed. He’s blushing. Rick is blushing and pretending you’re not there.

“Do you love me?”

You ask the question, blurt it out, and it’s stupid. Again. Rick wouldn’t just say ‘oh, of course I love you, Morty!’ because he’s Rick and Rick doesn’t  _ do that _ . He doesn’t do that.

“Okay, listen, Morty,” he says, and your stomach churns bitterly when he takes a sip from his flask, “you’re a piece of shit, and you’re disposable and stupid and too goddamned young. Love doesn’t exist.”   
And he’s shutting himself off again.

“So, no, Morty, I don’t love you. Don’t fuckin’ love you one bit. Stop pretending that’s a thing.”   
But you’re sure that he sounds more uncertain. And as he drones, his eyes never meet yours and you stop him because you can  _ see _ his lies, see them in the air, in his posture, see them like smoke falling from his lips.

“Shut up, Rick.”

You sit up, and he’s close enough that you pluck the foreign object out of his hands and sets the glowy, mechanical thing down, grabbing a handful of his labcoat.

He lets you.

You can’t see how  he’s feeling, don’t know that inside, Rick’s serial mind is panicking, he’s terrified of what his grandson is going to do, of the boy seeing through him, but he lets you tug him over and when you wrap your arms around his chest and say “come here,” he seems to break a little.   
You’re mystified.

Because as you run your smooth fingernails down his back, his arms fold around you as well and you can feel his hand brushing over your head, through your hair, and you think you must have caught him when he was exposed. He must have gone out and done something draining during school.

This is completely and utterly new.

You sit there, with your hands stroking down Rick’s back as he lets his chin rest on the top of your head, and you’re so close to him, surrounded by him and the stench of alcohol and sweat and Rick’s scent laced with something sweet like dark chocolate and you melt in it. You pull at this coat, and tilt your head up, and then you're tasting him too.

Your mouth is filled with copper and gunpowder, the burn of whiskey, that same bittersweet chocolate and it's intoxicating, so Rick, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same but his hands stroke down your chest and you’re completely lost.

He brushes them over your thighs and you perk up, arms running up to go around his neck, feeling the grease of his wild hair, an unnatural feeling, undeniably, from hair dye, and you wonder briefly like that, wonder what his original hair color is but then you feel his tongue against your lip and you grip him, breathing him in, feel his rough teeth biting and bruising your lips, and you just enjoy it.

You love Rick undeniably, and you feel like  you deserve this, deserve Rick after putting up with his shit for years, for waiting and waiting and for staying by him, deserve him for how much he’s made you cry and how much you’ve endured, all for him, you deserve Rick for he’s traumatized you and because you were fucked from the minute your mom told you that her dad will be staying at the house, you deserve it.

You deserve the sweet kisses that he’s giving you, the alcohol and the sweat and the sweet sting of chocolate and metal and the calloused hands holding you, the sagging, greyish skin pressed against yours, the rough lips with cracks and sores from viciously gnawing at them, the wild blue eyes that are as vibrant as his hair and alight with ideas and darkened with stress, the wild adventures and sharp swears and insults and the very little but well-earned praise and the lovely rough discovery that is your grandfather, and you’ll be damned to hell because of that, but so be it if Rick loves you and you love him back, so it be if Rick is yours and only yours and will meet you in Hell and dominate the entire place, which he will because you  _ know _ him and you know that he’ll beat the devil over the head with nothing but his own fists and he could win, because Rick is everything and he’s brain and brawn, infinite strength and knowledge and you know he’s yours, know from the moment he touches you cause he doesn’t touch  _ anybody else _ the way he touched you.

The makeout breaks and Rick just holds you, just holds you like you’re everything he has and you hold him back, bury your face into his chest and breathe him in.

He’s still stroking your hair, touching you, afraid that he’ll never touch you again, and you know that Rick Sanchez is yours for as long as you can keep him

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> morty hates alcohol but when it's on rick's tongue he's an addict  
> rick is tired  
> rick is so tired of his attraction to morty  
> would have been the death of him (possibly literally) if morty hadn't pushed  
> morty loves rick but it has an unhealthy aspect to it (other than the fact that rick is his grandfather)


End file.
